


nothing to fear (but fear itself)

by ZombieBabs



Series: Breaking & Entering [4]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Canon, Sort-of, Troubled Youth Ruby Carver, fictober18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 15:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieBabs/pseuds/ZombieBabs
Summary: Four times Ruby tried to scare her boss and failed.And one time she didn't.





	nothing to fear (but fear itself)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first prompt for the #fictober18 event: "Can you feel this?"
> 
> This fic also references the happenings of the other works in the Breaking & Entering series, though it isn't in chronological order. Still, it's recommended you read the other parts of the series before reading this one, for all of it to make sense.

It’s been three years since she started working for Dr. Richard Strand, studying all sorts of ghosties and ghoulies, and not once has she seen her boss anything less than unflappable.

Ruby Carver sits back in her chair at her desk at the Strand Institute, brow furrowed in an expression both thoughtful and mischievous.

The corners of her mouth twist into a grin. 

Time for that to change.

 

Dr. Strand can be fussy about food—it’s a _thing_ for him where sometimes he won’t eat for days, for _reasons_ —so Ruby waits until he’s finished eating his lunch before making her move. 

She taps at the open door of his office. 

Strand looks up, fingers poised on the keys of his laptop. “Yes?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask,” Ruby says.

Strand adjusts his glasses so he can look over them like an expectant librarian. It’s a different _thing_ for him, something he’s been trying, still self-conscious about having to wear glasses, even after rocking them the last couple years. It works for him, but Ruby has always been immune to the looks of even the strongest of librarians. When she hovers at the entrance of his office, he rights them and waves her in. “What sort of favor?”

In her hands is a paper bag. The bottom is heavy and damp and it grows soggier every second. A detail her cousin, Matt, did _not_ warn her about. Ruby approaches the desk and holds the bag out to Strand.

He tries to peer inside, but Ruby angles the opening away from his face.

Strand eyes her. They’re still the bluest-blue eyes she’s ever seen and now they’re staring at her all suspicious-like.

Fuck. Fuckity, fuck, fuck. This was such a stupid idea. Three years ago and this would have been a cynch, but now she’s rusty—like, _visibly_ rusty, like the nail she’s driving into her own coffin.

“Can you feel this?” she asks, all in one go. “It’s for, uh, an experiment. For school.”

Strand’s expression goes from suspicious to flat. His eyes sparkle, however. He adjusts his glasses, _again_ , radiating know-it-all smugness. “For school?”

Ruby’s face goes hot. She doesn’t stomp her foot, but she does tap it. Any satisfaction is lost in the thin carpet of his office. “Can you just do it? Please?”

One hand reaches, slowly, slowly, slowly into the paper bag. His fingers touch the contents and he huffs one of his strange laughs. “And what is it I’m supposed to be touching?”

“Eyeballs,” Ruby mutters.

“I beg your pardon? Could you repeat that?”

Ruby sighs. “Eyeballs.”

Strand removes his hand. Between two fingers is a peeled grape, glistening in the light of his office. He twists it, this way and that, examining it. “How long did it take you to peel the entire bag?”

“I did it on my lunch break, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It isn’t.” He tosses the grape back into the bag to join its slimy brethren. 

“The entire hour. Those fuckers are slippery.” 

“Language,” he says, like he always does. Even though she’s eighteen now and even her _mom_ doesn’t bother to chide her for cursing anymore.

“Right, sorry,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Those _buggers_ are slippery.”

“Did you get the data you were looking for?”

“Data?”

Strand’s lips crook up on one side. “For your experiment. For school.”

“Oh.” Ruby looks at the bag and back to Strand. “Yeah. I guess. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You can close the door on your way out. I have a call in a few minutes.”

Ruby slinks out of Strand’s office, closing the door behind her. She pitches the entire bag into the trash, when really, she’d like to pitch it at his entire face.

She logs onto her computer, clicking the icon for Internet Explorer.

Phase Two will require much more research.

 

It comes in the mail.

It being the biggest, hairiest, fake-est spider Ruby could find on the internet. 

She thought the practical joke shop website itself must have been a practical joke, all white-space and blue-link html, with the questionable addition of glitter graphics and ticker-text at the bottom. But Ruby took one look at the spider and knew she had to have her.

Even _if_ Dr. Strand doesn’t mind creepy-crawlies, no one, on Earth, could catch sight of _this_ spider and not reach for a lighter. _This_ is the kind of spider you’d torch a building and restart your life over.

Ruby loves her.

She names her Margaret, after one of the Fox sisters.

This time, Ruby comes into the Institute early. Early, early. Before the sun, early. She has to be sure she’ll get to the office before Strand, whose entire life revolves around his work. To an unhealthy degree. 

She’s spent entire summers trying to figure out his schedule—coming in early, leaving late—but no matter what time she arrives or what time she calls it quits for the day, Dr. Strand is _still_ in his office. It’s almost like, when he isn’t traveling for cases, he _lives_ at the Institute.

Which would be ridiculous.

Right?

But he isn’t in his office when Ruby comes in, which means he must go _somewhere_ , which is a relief all its own. 

Even with the building empty—much like the first time she entered the Strand Institute—Ruby tiptoes through the door. The decor has changed a bit over the last few years, but Ruby is happiest to note the lack of a Dr. Richard Strand, President and Founder of the Strand Institute, sprawled out on the floor with a bottle of whiskey at his hip.

His desk is clean, his laptop gone, packed up with him when he left. He keeps zero personal effects in the office. No family photos (the one from three years ago disappeared, never to be seen or spoken of again), no funky desk toys, not even a plant. The desk is basically a blank canvas and Margaret, Ruby’s chosen medium.

Ruby places Margaret dead-center. She pats the spider’s furry body with a satisfied hum.

Perfect.

Ruby sets up camp at her desk, pulling out a granola bar for breakfast. She gets to work on a summer assignment, eager to have it done since Dr. Strand won’t let her work on any of his cases until all of her homework is signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered on the first day of class.

It’s annoying, but if she had this kind of incentive when she was younger, maybe she wouldn’t have been ended up such a _troubled youth_. But then, she’d never have broken into the Institute on a stupid bet and she’d never have landed this job. So maybe it’s a chicken-egg thing.

Dr. Strand waltzes in at a quarter to six, juggling travel mug, keys, and briefcase. He stops short when he sees Ruby. His eyes narrow.

“Morning, boss,” she says. 

“Ruby,” he says.

He takes in the scene, eyes assessing. “You’re not...in trouble, are you?”

She had a rocky start, but it’s been _ages_ since she’s actually been ‘in trouble.’ She frowns. “Hey. Can’t a young woman get ready for her senior year of high school without getting the third degree?” 

He stares at her some more, like he doesn’t believe her, the jerk. “Okay, so I couldn’t sleep and I’m _dying_ to work on a case and you _promised_ I could be part of the next one as long as I got all of my homework done. So here I am, working on this book report at this _ungodly_ hour, and, _seriously_ , all those people who say you’re in league with the Devil are _wrong_ , because even _Satan_ isn’t awake this early.”

Strand nods. He takes a sip from his travel mug. “I see. At what time _is_ Satan awake?”

“Satan works a nine to five, but he rolls out of bed thirty minutes before he has to be there and doesn’t even bother to brush his hair.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. He goes by the name Robert and he’s been posing as the physics teacher at my school.”

Strand gives a soft laugh. He motions toward his office with his travel mug. “If you need anything, my door is open.”

“Sure thing, boss. Just leave me to my misery.”

Ruby makes a show of getting back to her report. She circles her mouse. She clicks. She double-clicks. She types a few nonsense words. All the while, she keeps an ear out for the slightest sound from within Strand’s office.

Minutes pass.

Minutes.

And—

—nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

Ruby gets up. She rounds her desk and tiptoes to the open door of Strand’s office. She peers in.

Dr. Strand sits at his desk, his laptop open. Margaret sits perched at the edge of the desk, out of the way, but clearly visible.

“I, uh, see you met Margaret,” she says.

Strand looks up. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Margaret?”

“The spider.”

Strand looks at Margaret, then back to Ruby. “Is she yours?”

Ruby shuffles from one foot to the other. “Um. Yeah. I thought you might think she was _interesting_ or whatever.”

“Interesting? I may not be an expert in arachnids, but I don’t believe one such as Margaret exists in the wild.”

Ruby sighs. “That’s—not really the point. Can I—can I have her back, please?”

Strand motions to Margaret. “If you intend to keep her at your desk, all I ask is you keep her out of sight of guests. Not everyone will find her as _interesting_ as you do.”

Ruby swipes Margaret off of Strand’s desk and hugs the spider to her. She goes back to her desk and places Margaret in one of her drawers.

Where she promptly forgets about the spider.

Hours later, when she opens the drawer to retrieve her stapler, she sees Margaret.

And screams. 

 

Phase Three is simple. 

Ridiculously simple. 

She’s really counting on the _simplicity_ of Phase Three to drive results.

Which is to say, Ruby goes to three different thrift stores before she finds an object to suit her needs perfectly.

The object?

An old Halloween mask.

She can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a monster or an alien, and the inside of it is hot as balls and smells strongly of beer, sweat, and barf, but it’s not as if it’s the season for this kind of thing and it’s suitably terrifying. There’s even a bit of dried blood (fake, probably) around the gnarled, yellowed teeth, which _really_ kicks it into gear.

Dr. Strand is going to pee himself when he sees it.

Or, at least, that’s the kind of reaction Ruby is going for.

They’re alone in the office when she pulls it out of her backpack. The rest of the assistants have left for the day, which is usually when Strand lets her get away with things like playing her music out loud, as long as it's not too distracting. She pops a CD into her computer tower and sets it to play just loud enough to cover the sounds of her as she sneaks her way into Strand’s office.

He’s deep into the book he’s writing—his second, she thinks—so he doesn’t notice her army crawl across the floor. She gets into a crouch behind his chair and takes a deep breath, trying not to gag on the frat-party reek of the mask.

She’ll count to three and then pop up behind him. 

One.

Two.

Thr—

“Ruby, what are you doing?”

He leans to the side, peering at her.

Ruby’s shoulders sag. She falls back to sit on her butt. “Nothing.”

“That mask is hideous.”

“That’s kind of what I was going for.” She pulls it off her head, her hair getting caught in the latex. The rush of fresh air that hits her face is cool and sweet. “Weren’t you startled? At least?”

“Is that what you’ve been up to?”

Ruby sighs. “Maybe. How are you not afraid of anything?”

“Fear is founded in the irrational. I simply chose to be rational.” He smiles, but there’s an edge to it. An edge Ruby recognizes because she’s seen it numerous times in the mirror. It has the sharpness of a secret.

Or a lie.

“Right,” Ruby says, drawing out the word. “Rational.”

She tosses the mask into the bin behind his desk. What a waste of three dollars and nineteen cents.

So, maybe simplicity wasn’t the best option.

She uses the edge of his desk to hoist herself up. She trudges the rest of his way through his office, but stops just short of the door. She turns around and points a finger at him. “I’m gonna figure it out, Dr. Strand. Just you wait.”

“With bated breath,” he says, lips crooked, already typing again.

“Ugh,” she says. She drops into her chair and folds her arms across her chest, ready to give into a good sulk.

But then—

—lightbulb.

She turns off the computer speakers, cutting off the music. She grabs for her backpack and starts shoving papers into it. She zips it with her teeth as she stands. “I gotta go, Dr. Strand. See you tomorrow!”

She only hears the tail end of his “Goodnight, Ruby” as she heads down the hall, toward the elevator.

Back to the thrift shop.

 

Again, Ruby enters the Strand Institute before the sun has even thought to rise. She has to make several trips back and forth from her car, juggling boxes. It takes her two hours to set everything up, but she takes a step back and grins.

It’s perfect.

It’s _horrifying._

It’s bound to be just the _thing_ to freak out Dr. Strand.

She filled his office with dolls. Dolls of every kind she could find, clearing out thrift shop after thrift shop. Baby dolls missing chunks of hair and eyeballs, dressed in nothing but the white cloth of their torsos. Old Barbie dolls wearing mismatched clothing, all barefoot, with jointed arms and legs akimbo. Porcelain dolls with their creepy always-watching eyes and Victorian-esque dresses, ceramic faces cracked beyond repair. 

She sets herself up in his chair, this time. Like a movie villain, minus the cat. It’s the perfect spot to see his face when he walks in.

She draws the line at turning off the light, however. Even _she_ can’t sit in a room full of dolls in the dark.

She’s not a _psychopath_.

Minutes later, the door opens. Strand pauses, first at the light in his office. Then, his gaze moves over the space, landing on each of the dolls in turn. The dolls cover every surface, filling bookshelves, sitting on his desk, hanging from the ceiling by hooked, plastic baby fingers. Finally, he looks at Ruby, not an ounce of fear in his features. 

Ruby frowns. “Jesus, fuck, Dr. Strand. It took me forever to put this together. The _least_ you could do is scream.”

He lifts a brow at her.

“Language. God, I _know_.”

He crosses the room. He moves two of the dolls so he can place his briefcase on his desk. “You did all this yourself? I’m impressed.”

Ruby pushes his big, comfy computer chair away from the desk so she can vacate it. She sighs. “And let me guess, you need me to take it down right away.”

So, maybe she hadn’t thought that far ahead. The clean-up was going to be a bitch. And with no pay-off. Goddamnit.

“What does my schedule look like today?” Strand asks. 

“You have a follow-up call at eleven with Ms. Cubas. And just your usual touch-bases with Travis and Cynthia.”

Strand gives the room a once-over. “Leave it. You can take it down at the end of the day, after your shift.”

Ruby’s eyes widen. “You’re serious?”

He rolls his shoulders in a small shrug. “As long as this is the end of the pranks. The Institute is a place of business. While I appreciate you keeping them out of sight, the pranks are becoming a distraction.”

Ruby’s shoulders sag. Her cheeks go hot. She shuffles from foot to foot. “Yes, Dr. Strand.”

“Good.” He rounds the desk to sit, squeezing her shoulder as he passes. “I want you to sit in on the call with Ms. Cubas today.”

“Really?”

He nods. He re-arranges some of the dolls on the desk so he can plug in his laptop. “If you’re going to be participating in cases, you’ll need exposure in communicating with clients. I want you to listen and take notes.”

Excitement pings around Ruby’s entire body until she’s nearly vibrating with it. “Awesome! I mean, yes, I’ll do that. I can do that.”

He smiles. “Good.”

She knows him well enough by now to know a dismissal when she hears one. She hesitates by the door, however. “You’re really going to sit in all this? All day?”

He smiles. Ruby recognizes the glimmer in his eyes because she’s seen it in the mirror dozens of times, too.

Mischief.

Frowning, Ruby closes the door to Strand’s office until it gives a soft click.

Maybe the people who critique Dr. Strand are right. Not about the Devil bit, of course. But maybe, just maybe, he _is_ evil.

Just a little bit. 

 

Ruby promised Dr. Strand an end to the “pranks,” but she still has one left in her. And this one is for _all_ the marbles.

She goes to the craft supply store and picks up sheets of black poster board, a pack of Elmer’s glue, and a new pair of scissors. She lays out each piece of poster board on the floor of her bedroom and glues them together until she has one large poster board measuring two across and five down. Using a pencil, she outlines a crude shape, which she cuts out with her scissors. She puts it in the car, buckling it into the passenger seat with a smile.

She names it Kevin. Simply because it looks like a Kevin.

The next day, at work, Ruby fidgets. She watches the clock like a hawk, waiting for the building to empty out. She walks out with one of the assistants, Tanya, making small talk along the way, even though she _hates_ small talk. While the others slide into their cars and drive off, Ruby waits.

Once the parking lot empties out, she unlocks her car. She unbuckles Kevin and drags him back into the office. She props him in the elevator, her heart pounding, her blood a rush of excitement in her ears.

This is the one. She can feel it in her bones.

The elevator door slides open. Ruby and Kevin exit into the empty hallway. Ruby leaves Kevin propped against the wall while she raids a nearby office. She returns with a tape dispenser and a chair. 

Standing on the chair with Kevin, she tapes the paper figure to the wall, just above the elevator. Kevin’s “feet” only just brush the floor. When the edges keep curling up, Ruby tapes a couple pens to each foot to weigh them down. Done, she puts the chair and the tape back where she got them from.

Then, to put the finishing touches on the scene, turns the dimmer switch all the way down. The hallway fills with shadows. 

Ruby walks back toward her desk, back toward Strand’s office. She turns every so often to observe Kevin.

He stands at the end of the hallway, an inhumanly tall shadow, human-like, but with long, thin arms, hanging by his side like the branches of a tree. At first glance, it looks like someone stands just in front of the elevator, but a second look reveals just how impossible his proportions really are.

Back at her desk, Ruby packs up as she normally would. Her backpack slung over one shoulder, her keys in her hand, she goes to the open door of Strand’s office. 

Strand is bent over his desk, one of his VHS tape cases spilled in front of him. It’s one of the special cases, one of the black ones, instead of the usual white. One of the ones he doesn’t like to talk about, no matter how much she grills him.

Ruby knocks on the door jam when he doesn’t look up. “Dr. Strand?”

He lifts his head, blinking, like he was just lost in thought. “Ruby? I thought you’d gone.”

“Heading out now,” she says. “But someone must have bumped the light switch on their way out. It’s not like I’m scared of the dark, or whatever, but, you know, a girl can never be too careful. Can you walk me to the elevator?”

Strand frowns. He looks at the contents of the tape, then shakes his head, as if to clear it. He sweeps the items on his desk into the case and shuts the case in a locked drawer in his desk. “Yes, of course.”

Ruby leads the way with Dr. Strand behind her like her own tall shadow. Her blood sings with anticipation in her veins, rising in volume as they approach the hallway. She wants to check on Strand, to see his face, but she has to play it cool or the jig’ll be up before he even spots Kevin.

As soon as they reach the hallway, however, she knows she’s got him. He gives a sharp intake of breath. He stops in his tracks, stopping Ruby with a hand on her shoulder, his grip tight, almost painful.

“Ruby,” he says, quiet in the dark of the hallway. “Get behind me.”

“Wait, what—“

He shoves her behind him, putting himself between the shadow and Ruby. “Go. Run for the stairwell.”

“But, Dr. Strand—“

“Go, Ruby. Now.”

“But, it’s—“

He shoves her again, this time away, back the way they came. It’s hard to see, but he looks exactly like he’s just seen a ghost.

...or something more terrible than a ghost.

He turns back to stare down the shadow, fists clenched at his sides. Like he would physically fight the creature standing at the end of the hall if it meant buying Ruby time to flee. She’s filled with awe at this man, at his concern for her, at his bravery. She’s also filled with remorse. She just wanted to scare him, to give him a momentary fright. Not this.

She ducks around him, then skitters out of his reach when he tries to pull her behind him again. “Dr. Strand, I’m sorry. It’s okay! It’s just a prank! Just some poster board and glue. It’s okay, really.”

His eyes go from her, to the figure, and back. He lets out a breath and the shakiness of it is like a punch to her gut. “A prank?”

She laughs, but it’s nervous laughter, not at all at his expense. “You know me. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I just had this last one and that was going to be it, I promise.”

“Show me,” he says. No trace of fury or fear or _anything_ in his voice. 

Ruby leads him the rest of the way down the hallway. He inspects the paper form for a minute before reaching out to wrench it down from the wall.

“Never,” he says. “Never do something like that again. Do you understand me?”

She fucked up. She fucked up _real_ bad. Hot tears burn in her eyes. She ducks her head so he can’t see as one tear escapes, trailing down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. I won’t blame you for firing me. I can—I can go get my stuff now, if you want.”

He’s silent for so long, Ruby takes it as an affirmation. Without lifting her head, she turns to trudge back to her desk, to gather the few personal things she’s collected over the last three years.

“Ruby,” he says.

She waits, shoulders bunched like she’s waiting for a blow.

“You’re not fired.”

She sniffles. “I’m not?”

“You’re not.”

Dr. Strand is not a toucher. He doesn’t _do_ touch. Nothing more than a handshake or the rare squeeze of a shoulder. Ruby forsakes all of that and launches herself at him, arms wrapped around his middle. His hands hover in the air as he remembers what to do with them, then settle on her shoulders.

But he doesn’t push her away.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, this time muffled by his suit jacket. “I’ll never curse again, as long as I live.”

Strand snorts his disbelief. 

“Okay, so maybe that’s not a realistic goal. But I can try to tone it down?”

“That’s fine, Ruby. You’re fine.”

“But it’s not really, is it? What I did was really uncool. I really didn’t mean to—to—“ She tightens her hold, burrowing closer. She’s never had a father, and, like a stupid cliche, Strand has always felt like something of a surrogate. “I really scared you. I thought nothing scared you.”

“I—“

“And here you were, terrified, but you were gonna have fucking—sorry, I meant _freaking_ —fisticuffs with a demon just so you could save me. Who knew you were some kind of secret badass?”

He laughs. He allows her one more moment, then gently extricates himself from her hold. 

Ruby scrubs at the evidence of her tears with her sleeve. Her eyeliner and mascara are probably _everywhere_. “I should, um, go.”

Strand picks the paper shadow off the ground and hands it to her. “Please take your paper craft home with you.”

“His name is Kevin.”

His brows furrow. “Kevin?”

Ruby shrugs. “He looks like a Kevin.”

Strand looks at her like he might reconsider his offer not to fire her. Ruby hikes Kevin up under her arm, ready to high-tail it out of there. “See you tomorrow, boss. Don’t stay too late.”

“Goodnight, Ruby.”

 

Ruby drives home, Kevin buckled into the passenger seat. She steals glances at him at every red light, wondering just what about the paper shadow terrified Strand. It was almost as if he _recognized_ the shadow.

Something from one of his tapes? One of the black tape cases?

She needs to finish her summer homework, ASAP.

Her gut tells her the answer lies somewhere in those tapes. The sooner she can join in investigations, the sooner she can do some digging of her own.

Ruby never could leave well enough alone.


End file.
